I’d been humiliated before. Booed off the pitch. Injured. Mocked by the press. But this? Watching her go silent on me again?
This was different.
I wasn’t sure if she was punishing me or just drowning.
I stood up, pacing the room like a caged animal, clenching and unclenching my fists. I needed to do something. Go to her. Kick down a door. Find whoever had leaked that clip. Anything.
But all I had was this stupid phone.
I stared at her contact one more time, thumb trembling.
“I’ll fix it,” I muttered under my breath. “Whatever it takes.”
It wasn’t a promise to Cam or the team. It wasn’t even a promise to her.
It was a vow to myself.
Because I’d already lost too much.
And I wasn’t about to lose her without a fight.
My phone buzzed.
Adam: Do NOT turn on Good Morning MLS.
Which, of course, meant I turned on the damn TV.
The second the channel loaded, I regretted it.
There he was.
Ryder Blake. Grinning like a fox on live television, smug in his suit, sitting on that too-shiny sports desk set. A cohost leaned back, already laughing at something he’d said. Ryder held center court like he owned it. And I could tell—he’d been waiting for this.
“—look, I’m not saying she doesn’t know how to work a room,” Ryder was saying, voice slick as oil. “But come on. Sommers has always been… ambitious.”
The host chuckled. “You would know.”
“Oh, I would,” Ryder said, all mock innocence. “She’s good at getting close to sources. Guess we finally got it on video.”
Laughter again.
My jaw locked.
He kept going. “I mean, some people chase stories. Others wrap themselves around ‘em. Whatever gets the headline, right?” He looked directly into the camera, smiling like a snake. “Slick girl. Knows what she’s doing.”
My blood turned to static.
I stepped closer to the screen like distance could dull the rage. It didn’t. I watched his mouth move, his smirking lips as he gutted her live. I’d heard insults before. I’d been the subject of more than a few.
But this?
This wasn’t just PR fire. This was personal.
Every word was a blade. Every comment was laced with venom only someone who knew her—used her—could deliver.
I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms.
He called her opportunistic. Accused her of trading favors for access. Framed her like she was sleeping her way to a byline.
